Sometimes I Steal Flowers From Your Garden
by allhailraytoro
Summary: I steal folwers from your garden all the time and today you've caught me. You want to accompany me to meet the girl to see if she is pretty enough to 'warrant the theft of the flowers'. So, we're stood at my sisters grave. (Phil's POV) romance if you squint, mostly friendship. rated M for triggers (cancer, suicide, mental health problems, emotional breakdowns, sibling death).


I stoop low to pick the blossoming Forget Me Not flowers from the entrance of the garden. It's not my garden and they're not my flowers, so, yes, technically it is theft. But honestly, the garden is full of so many types of wonderful flowers that I doubt the owner minds that I take a small bunch of the common periwinkle blue flowers.

This has become a routine now. I marvel at the garden as I pass, and then gently pick a small bunch of Forget Me Nots, and carry on with my walk. This routine happens at least every fortnight, if not more often. More recently, I have seen someone standing in the window of the post-victorian house, who I presume is the owner of the property, the garden and the flowers that I steal. When I catch him watching me, I give him a small smile, and he returns the action, looking curiously as I walk on by.

But, why is this day different from all other days? Today, as we exchange our usual smiles, he disappears suddenly, and then comes running out of the magnificent front door of the house. He's dressed all in black, looking smart, with a inquiring, but friendly, smile on his face.

"So," he starts to say, "I've finally managed to catch you before you escape."

"Escape? No no, I'm not trying to run away from you; I'm sorry if it appeared that way."

"No worries, I'm Dan by the way."

"Phil," I state, and offer my hand for him to shake, "You have quite an impressive garden."

"Thanks, thanks, it's my guilty pleasure I guess. And you have quite an impressive knack of stealing flowers from my garden." He's smiling, joking almost, but I still feel guilty for taking the flowers. It is theft, and it's happened on more than one occasion.

"About that, yeah, I'm really sorry. It's just, well, Forget Me Nots seem appropriate and I hoped you wouldn't mind if I took these flowers, I mean, it looks like there are much rarer ones in your garden."

"Of course I don't mind! Help yourself to any of the flowers, mate. I'm just glad I've finally managed to speak to you, because, well, if you don't mind, I'd really like to accompany you to make sure that this girl is pretty enough to warrant the flower theft."

He's smirking and he honestly means no harm by this, but my smile falters slightly. He doesn't seem to notice.

So, here I am, walking and chatting idly with my new friend Dan. We're making pleasant conversation, but my mind is screaming. Why? Because I'm struggling to find the words to tell Dan that we're on our way to a graveyard. Shit.

"Phil?" Dan questioned, as I open the cemetery gate for him. He looks at me, his eyes slightly frightened, but then turns his attention to the scenery, and finally, his eyes lay upon the grave decorated in the flowers from his garden. I take his hand and gently lead him over to the headstone. I place the Forget Me Not flowers gently on the grave, and remove any past flowers that look particularly wilted.

I Look Dan in the eyes, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you where we were going. I mean, you were so enthusiastic and friendly, and I've stolen flowers from you for so long that you deserve to know where I put them. I couldn't find the words to tell you that they were for, well, a grave. I'm sorry, I really am Dan."

I can see small tears in his eyes, but, still he's smiling.

"No, really, it should be me apologising! Thank you for being so honest with me though, I feel...well, I'm not sure what I feel, but knowing that they're going to someone who is loved and remembered is...nice, for lack of a better word." He scratches the back of his neck, and sorts his hair a little, his awkward tendencies I guess. He studies the tombstone, and then says "Fiona Lester...Who was she? If you don't mind me asking, of course."

I'm quiet for a few seconds. It's the first time I've thought deeply about her for a while.

"She was my sister." Dan nodded solemnly, and then reached into his left coat pocket, and brought out a slightly bent rose. A cardinal red in colour, fully blooming, the petals looking as soft as velvet. "I brought this rose for you," He admitted, somewhat sheepishly, "But, I'd like to give it to Fiona, if that's ok with you."

I was so touched by the action, that my voice disappeared, and all I could do was nod, focusing all my attention to attempting to keep the tears from overflowing. Dan kneeled down, and softly placed the rose in the centre of the headstone, just under her name. The crimson stood out beautifully against the scatterings of the cerulean petals. The tears rolled down my face at the sight of it. I sat down, too overwhelmed by the act of kindness; memories of Fiona came flooding back- memories that I had been shutting off for a long time. Painfully nostalgic.

I felt Dan place his arm around my shoulder, and when I tentatively placed my head on his shoulder, he pulled me in tighter- I was very grateful for his comfort. He sniffed a little, and I guessed he was crying too. We stayed for a few minutes like this, until my sobbing calmed down to a gentle cry. I looked up, his face stained with silent tears, and his eyes offered me such kindness, comfort and understanding that, for once in a very long while, I wanted to talk about my sister.

"It was cancer, originally." I confided in him, and his eyebrows knitted in concern. "Cancer in the esophagus, you know, the windpipe. She wasn't very old, just turned 19. She got cancer because she had an underactive thyroid, a hormone gland or something. Turns out it's hereditary, in my case it skipped a generation, because I'm free of it. My Mum suffered from it but they found it very early on, so, she takes tablets for it and to this day she's as fit and as healthy as she'll ever be. But, by the time the doctors discovered that Fiona had the condition, it had caused internal damage; not that we knew, of course. Even though she was on the correct medication for it, she was in more pain than she'd ever been, and being on the medication messed with her brain. Her mental health. Her anxiety became out of hand, she couldn't get out of the house without having panic attacks, it caused her depression to eat away at her, and the EBD, emotional behavioral dysregulation, she suffered from just...she was barely Fiona anymore. She stayed on paediatric wards, was on more medication that I'd ever seen before, was in pain constantly and so mentally understable." I took a moment, deciding whether or not to continue with the story. For some reason, I did.

"And, because of all this, she killed herself. The 'voices' haunted her, she couldn't draw or paint anymore, her quality of life was...unbearable. It was unbearable to see her like this too. And, I should've noticed the signs Dan, well, I did notice but I should've done something about it! Why didn't I do anything about it? I could've saved her. I could've stopped her. I could have…" Another flood of tears and a huge wrack of sobs came, and comfort radiated off Dan's being. Gratefully, I fell into his arms again.

We sat in silence for the remainder of the day. It was early evening when Dan finally spoke.

"Happiness, Phil. Your sister thrived off happiness. And, you feel so guilty about her that you aren't happy. Do you think she'd want that, Phil? And, honestly, do not blame yourself to what happened to her. No doubt, you will have so many opportunities to be happy, I'm sure you have many now, but you aren't allowing yourself to be happy because you're so wrapped up in self blame. Fiona was so ill that she couldn't take the opportunities that offered her happiness. You can Phil. And, I'm sure Fiona would want you too."

His thumb strokes my hand, and his words fill me with hope. New hope. When twilight is steadily approaching, we both get up, and start to make our way home. My mood has drastically improved but I still feel like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards; God knows what I look like. We arrive back at his house, which is as beautiful as ever, and we share a deep meaningful hug. "Thank you, so so much Dan." I say and I turn to leave.

"Wait!" He shouts after me, so I walk back to him, my eyebrows raised in questioning. He plucks a rose from the nearest bush, and offers it out to me. "Would you like to come inside for a while?" His cheeks are stained coral. "Of course!" I say, graciously taking the rose and following him inside.


End file.
